


The Archaeologist and the Spy

by gigi2690



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:58:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigi2690/pseuds/gigi2690
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Myka Bering is a Professor of Archaeology at the University of Chicago. What happens when she meets Helena, who works for MI-6, while caught in a booby trap deep in a lost Byzantine Emperor's tomb in Southern Lebanon? Are Bering and Wells always destined to solve puzzles and save the day together regardless of the universe?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Trap

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not copy or duplicate on other sites or mediums without my consent.

If someone had told Myka a year ago that she'd end up stuck in a booby trapped Byzantine tomb in southern Lebanon with her very own Indiana Jones and Lara Croft, she'd probably have either accused them of being on drugs or laughed them out of her classroom. A Professor at University of Chicago specializing in Byzantine, Sassarian, and Abbasid history and texts, Myka had thought her life in the field was over. After losing her lover and colleague, Sam, when they were attacked at a dig in Syria, the opportunities and funding has simply vanished.

And as much as Myka enjoyed teaching, she missed the desert air; she missed getting her hands dirty; she missed that thrill of discovering a new artifact. So when a man appeared at her cramped office door boasting possession of a map to a lost Byzantine Emperor's tomb and the offer to share in its discovery –all expenses paid at that- she'd calculated how many days of leave she could take as well as well as who would watch over her ferret before he'd even finished his pitch.

Now, however, she cursed her blind earnestness, which had overpowered her customarily observant mind. For while her new partner clearly had an affinity to garb that Indiana Jones would wear if he shopped at Calvin Klein, she'd just chalked it up to the ostentatiousness of the wealthy, failing to note the more important signs: signs that may have kept her from landing in this situation.

The distinct lack of wear in his boots, his unsteady tread as he made his way across the moving sands, the odd gleam in his eye as he spoke of the wonders that awaited them, signs that should have alerted her to the fact that she had unwittingly undertaken this quest with a treasure hunter with no perception of either the rich history under their feet or-and more importantly- the myriad of dangers left dormant for centuries, waiting for someone to foolishly tumble into their clutches.

And a fool he was, jumping around the torch lit chamber like a child on Christmas morning-ignoring her warnings and touching everything, and what a fool she was to be standing beside him as the floor fell from beneath their feet. After tumbling at least 50 feet to land in an unceremonious heap on the sandstone floor of a brighter-and seemingly exitless- chamber, Myka hadn't bothered to feel bad for using the imbecile's body to break her fall.

She purposefully elbowed the man in the side as she got to her feet, her voice echoing off the walls as she yelled, "YOU IDIOT! Why would you bring me here if you aren't going to heed my words?! Did you not hear me yell 'DON'T TOUCH THE PANELING?'" She ran her hands through her disheveled curls her ire growing at the unapologetic shrug of the man's shoulders, "Did you bring me here for my ability to read Ancient Greek and my background as an archeologist or just to have a woman by your side to complete your ridiculous Indiana Jones fantasy?!" A low chuckle abruptly shut her up, she had not realized that the two of them were not alone.

A beautiful woman with high cheekbones and strong jawline fitted quite well with the painted Greek Goddesses Myka had been examining before her partner landed them here. Overcome by her beauty and her surprising appearance, it took Myka a moment to take in what she was wearing. She sighed and rubbed her brow in annoyance, yet another person who seemed to gleam their understanding of archeology from hollywood, just what she needed. If this woman proved to be equally daft she might as well toss herself to the flaming beacons that lit their stone prison rather than wait for their oxygen to run out or die of dehydration.

She she found herself rejecting the thought almost as quickly as it crossed her mind, for while she had failed in her perception of her associate, Myka found she couldn't notnotice everything about this woman. The sure set of her shoulders, the worn but well crafted leather utility belt hung low across narrow hips, the long toned expanse of leg indicative of a very active lifestyle, while her outfit was almost as conspicuous as Myka's clueless benefactor, she didn't wear it like a costume or armor. It was her partner that spoke first,

"Who are you? How did you get here?" The suspicion in his voice was palpable and though Myka felt herself inexplicably bristle in defense of the stranger, she couldn't begrudge him his wariness. They were after all in a -to their knowledge-previously undiscovered tomb that they'd only managed to find by the guide of an ancient map. Unless,

"You followed us here didn't you?" The woman smiled, an act that wholly transformed her face softening the hard line of her jaw and bringing a warmth to her gaze and Myka was unable to stop the rush of heat to her cheeks,

"Ah, I see this is the brains," her grin turned slightly wolfish, "and beauty of the operation." The soft lilting British accent stood out starkly against the harsh heat and looming shadows. Her flush intensified and Myka hoped it would be attributed to the heat of the flaming beacons that surrounded them. The woman stepped closer, not stopping until she was toeing over the line of Myka's personal space. She wiped her hand on her shorts before extending it, an act that oddly charmed her as she was certainly just as dusty from their trek to the site and more so the tumble into this crypt,

"Helena Wells, you'll have to forgive me for the awful line, I fear my head took one too many hits down that dreadful shaft. Believe me, I mean you no harm," her eyes darted over to the man at Myka's side, her glare to him saying otherwise, "but I cannot say the same of your associate. I only tracked you down because I became aware of a black market auction promising treasures I assume he meant to uncover here."

Myka turned to glare at the now expressionless man, perhaps she shouldn't have trusted the words of a stranger who'd just admitted to following them, but she'd already concluded he was a treasure hunter and somehow it felt better knowing that he was a criminal that had deceived her rather than a rich dolt she'd foolishly followed into the desert. Her eyes were drawn back to Helena moments later, it did not escape Myka's notice that she had been nearly incapable of looking anywhere else,

"And how did you know about a black market auction? And how did you know that I wasn't in on this auction?" The raven-haired woman's smile softened,

"I'm MI-6 Darling. And as for how I knew of your innocence, having followed within earshot for the past few hours I had the pleasure of hearing all about the different museums that would benefit from this find, and of your ardent desire to study every piece you saw," she reached forward and tucked a loose curl behind Myka's ear, "such passion is quite becoming in a woman." Her posture straightened as she stepped back giving the notably silent man a look of warning before pulling some sort of gun from her utility belt, "Now then, what do you say we see about getting out of here?" She extended her hand for the second time that day, and Myka found herelf once again clasping it without thought, "I think I see the way."


	2. Setting The Board

Myka watched intently as Helena climbed the few feet onto the ledge that ran along the sides of the chamber. When Helena then proceeded to swiftly pull Myka up after her by their joined hands, she couldn't help but be impressed with the strength held within the smaller woman's frame. Myka kept in shape; she knew she was no lightweight.

Her eyes darted down, their fingers lingering together a good deal longer than strictly necessary, and she couldn't decide if the light brush against her knuckles had been intentional. She resolutely ignored the warm twist low in her gut. It wasn't like her to get so easily distracted, especially when her neck was on the line. Greed was constant shadow in her field of work, and the brunette had done her share of tangos with danger and occasionally with death.

And true, her heart was currently threatening to break her ribs, and yes, her eyes hurt from the glare of the burning flames all around her. But she enjoyed the dance, she always had. It was a part of her that had always made Sam wary. He shared her love of getting to the bottom of a puzzle, but he didn't understand the thrill facing off against an opponent both in body and in mind.

And having known this raven-haired beauty no more than five minutes, Myka would have been willing to bet a month of her salary Helena was the kind of woman who would understand that thrill. And this was perhaps the biggest reason Myka didn't mind now having to entrust her life in the hands of the charming stranger.

Myka's eyes turned to the odd looking gun in Helena's hand, "What's that?"

"A grappler gun, Ms. Bering."

"Myka, Please," she cracked a lopsided smile-the first since her tumble down the stone shaft, "If you're going to be saving my life, you may as well call me Myka."

Helena's responding grin gave Myka the irrational wish to bask in it for as long as possible, like a cat in a beam of sunlight coming through a window. It was warm and somehow managed to relax a band of tension in her shoulders. Myka couldn't remember ever seeing a smile so beautiful, or one with so many secrets behind it.

"Myka then." The word rolled pleasantly off Helena's lips, curling around the younger woman; she'd heard her name spoken by people with British accents-she'd been a visiting professor at Cambridge for a time- but her name had never sounded quite like that.

Myka shook herself slightly, she needed to focus on the pertinent details, like being trapped in a Byzantine tomb with a spy and an untrustworthy treasure hunter, "A grappler? You're a spy right? Isn't that a bit old-fashioned?"

Helena waved around them, the extended shadows of her arms on chamber walls, edges licked by the flames, added to the other woman's already captivating presence,

"Look around you, how much help do you think a laser or a spy camera would be? Sometimes, my dear," she rose the arm with the grappler upwards, towards an dark corner near the ceiling on the other side of the chamber, "sometimes the classics are best."

"Come on darling, grab on tight." Myka's eyes rolled from sweat-slicked clavicles down to tightly laced leather boots and then back again, trying to discern just where on the other woman she was supposed to grab. A shuffling movement brought her attention away, Myka had nearly forgotten about her deceitful associate, her head tipped his way as she spoke,

"What about him? We can't leave him." The man had wisely kept quiet, looking quite a bit like a scolded dog.

Helena nodded, "Of course not," she shot him a disdainful glare, "lucky for him, I still need him yet." She returned a much warmer gaze back to the curly-haired archeologist, "but for now he can stay put while we figure our way out of here. I hooked the grappler at the entrance to some vent near the ceiling. He won't run out of air, and I'd rather he stay out of trouble for now, who knows, the next booby trap he blunders over might not be so amenable."

Myka tried to smother her laughter, but as she had now wrapped herself tight around the other woman, she was fairly certain the agent could feel her shoulders shaking against her.

All said and done it took them a little over an hour to find their way out of the maze of chambers and deadly traps. The agent didn't know how to read Ancient Greek, but Myka found her very easy to bounce ideas off of. Her approach was very different from her own, but they worked off each other very well, that had been clear following the exhilarated look they'd shared after having outwitted a trap threatening to shoot sharpened bamboo at a single misstep.

They'd gotten back to Kafra, returning to Helena's very swank hotel ("Very 007, but a little conspicuous don't you think?" "Quite the opposite. Most people's eyes never get past the designer bag or the credit card numbers. It's the ostentatiousness they remember, not me."). Somehow, Myka couldn't imagine anyone forgetting her.

After a very impressive display of intimidation where the spy had injected their captive treasure hunter in the arm with some sort of tracker, she then threatened to have it stop his heart if she ever found him so much as a yard more than hundred away. The look in her eye suggested she found the idea rather agreeable. As interesting as Myka found the spy, she did wonder at moments, if the woman was entirely, well, sane. And then she'd wonder why that glint of madness looked so damnably attractive in her eyes.

And now they were settled at the Hotel's outside cafe. Though Myka's Arabic was barely passable, most people here spoke English or French, so she could communicate easily enough. Even so, she currently felt perfectly willing to let the other woman order for them in favor of turning her gaze to the bustling of the city streets.

She didn't so much hear the waiter leave as she felt the woman's attention return to her. Her eyes followed some children kicking a soccer ball, jutting back and forth across an unevenly paved square. She turned back to face Helena just as the woman started to speak,

"Time to spare, whatever shall we do?"

"There comes a moment in the day when you have written your pages in the morning, attended to your correspondence in the afternoon, and have nothing further to do. Then comes that hour when you are bored; that's the time for sex." She hadn't meant to say it. But Helena was leaning back in her chair, all teasing smiles and bold eyes, looking far too distracting for Myka to stop the words from slipping through her traitorous lips.

"A fan of H.G Wells?" Myka wanted to regret the words as soon they were free, but she couldn't. And Myka was surly in trouble, because Helena was giving her that smile again, the one to which she feared she could easily become addicted.

"I am. I almost went into literature, once upon a time. I may have noticed the connection to your name, Helena Wells."

Helena's expression was clear and Myka took pride in managing to impress the agent, "Most people don't make the connection."

"It's just how my mind works. My mind has always been good at making connections, figuring out puzzles. It's what led me to archeology over say, literature, the thrill of figuring out a 1,500 year old puzzle..." she trailed off, unsure why she was sharing so much, she cleared her throat, "Is it your real name?" Helena shook her head in refusal to either affirm or deny, and then gave the brunette a wink,

"Oh come now darling, where's the fun in that." Myka laughed and looked away, very much aware that she was blushing again.

Helena's smile was wide and there was mirth and the spark of something hotter in her gaze as leaned back in her chair, and watched her. This persisted for a few charged moments before she shook her head lightly turning serious,

"Now, what I've got planned is going to be very dangerous and will determine the future of a good many lives. And frankly, I'm going solo here, and from what I've seen of you," despite the near constant flirting, her tone now completely sincere and without innuendo, "I could use your help. So, Wells and Bering, solving puzzles and saving the day?"

Myka smiled glancing down before looking back at the woman through dark lashes, "You'll read me in on the plan?"

Helena shrugged, thanking the waiter as their tea arrived, "Of course, you're rather instrumental in it."

Nodding Myka raised the saucer to lips, enjoying the spicy aroma, "I have no idea what I'm getting myself into, but think I'd quite like that."


	3. Giving Chase

Myka moved to sit at the head of the hotel suite's massive king size bed. Her eyes were drawn to the beautiful silk tapestry that hung above the headboard: a golden wildcat curled around a blood red jackal beside a stream, something about the scene gave Myka pause. Hesitant fingers rolled just above the surface of the jackal's tail. She was caked in dirt and sand. Her bicep twitched as she resisted the urge to touch.

She turned to look at Helena, the other woman's profile-in Myka's professional opinion- was more captivating than the tapestry. Her body stretched as she bent over a large Victorian era writer's table –

Circa 1880 of the Renaissance revival if the inlaid panels and masculine arches are anything thing to go by – (her specialty may be in Byzantine, Sassarian, and Abbasid history, but she'd been known to dabble). Its rich mahogany was completely obscured by papers, even the laptop was covered in post-its. Myka couldn't make out any of it, and she could speak 6 languages and read 5 more. It looked like elegantly scrawled gibberish to her...

Oh. Helena wrote in code, either something taught to her by MI-6 or of her own making, Myka suspected the latter. A semester of computer science in college told her that the writing on the post-its that surrounded and obscured the laptop was computer code, but not much else (it was only a semester). The west-facing wall was completely made of glass with stained geometric patterns of moss green and sapphire running along the bottom.

It was getting darker now, harsh red and orange had turned to pale gold, the shadows of the buildings almost purple against the rolling hills surrounding the city. Something about the way the colours bounced off the agent's pale shoulder blades (despite hours in the sun, Helena seemed not to have tanned at all. Myka was pretty certain that she was at least two shades darker than she had been the day before.) ...something about all of her really. And Myka already knew what she wanted to do, that wasn't the problem. The problem was she wasn't sure if she wanted it for the right reasons.

"So let me get this straight," Helena gestures encouragingly as Myka draws a deep breath, "you want us to sneak into a black market auction as the guests of Jensen- the treasure hunter you told me wasn't to be trusted- find this Macpherson guy-who you say is a big shot bad guy even though you won't tell me why you want him-then abduct him right from under the noses of his own guards and half of the uber-wealthy criminal community?"

Helena's smile is sure, but the hasty trek of fingers through inky locks hints at anxiety lying beneath the well-crafted surface, "I'm not sure 'community' is an apt term, but essentially, yes. And as for the trustworthiness of our treasure hunter friend, he knows MI-6 isn't a police force, he cooperates and we most likely leave him alone because he's a bite and we're looking for the meal," Helena's smile turns predatory, and just for a moment Myka can see that spark of what may be madness in her eyes, "However, if he chooses to make things difficult, the British government will be less... charitable."

A spark turns to a blaze before it is gone as suddenly as it had appeared. And the benign expression that follows almost has Myka doubting it was there at all, except Myka made a promise to herself after Syria, she'd never doubt her instincts again. Helena takes her sudden silence and tension as a sign that she is doubting whether she wants to become involved, and truly given how ridiculously dangerous the plan is and that Myka now suspects the only person who'd have her back through it might be slightly mad, truly she should be reconsidering. But she isn't.

Helena's eyes, which had been on her papers, look up to meet Myka's, "I have to hope he has good survival instincts." Myka has a feeling Helena is talking about more than Jensen, as if even though Helena had been the one to ask for her help she was partly hoping Myka would turn her down. And when Helena offers her time to think, despite knowing what she wants, Myka gladly takes it, for Myka isn't the sort to jump to decisions quickly, not to mention she's troubled about her uncertainly regarding the why of it all.

'The Spy At Sunset in Lebanon,' Myka wished she had a camera, her photographic memory would have to do. The subtle brush of gold along her cheeks and collarbones as she bent over the large cherry red writer's table, the tension visibly vibrating across her shoulders and down the back of her thighs-clenching and unclenching- Focus.

All together it was a beautiful scene, the kind that holds your heart hostage, squeezing it with such tenacity that no distractions, thoughts, or walls can keep you from feeling. And wasn't that the problem at its crux. She was making this decision based on feelings, not facts or logic. Myka had thought herself above that, a rationale being, with emotions that could be boxed and controlled as needed.

Oh she could rationalize it well enough, the duty in knowing she could help and lives may be saved, the opportunity of it – Helena had promised that when her plan was carried out she'd turn over the artifacts she brought back from the site – Myka would be credited in a substantial find for Byzantinian archaeology, far more impressive than the discovery the previous year in Greece. It would put her back in the field both physically and academically.

Only... that's not why she was going to say yes.

"Shit!" Even though Myka had been looking at Helena she found herself wondering when the other woman had moved to her bag on the dresser. Myka didn't say anything, content to wait for the spy to fill her in, or she was that is, until Helena pulled out a gun and made a dash for the door. Myka-who had been closer- beat her to it and held it open behind her,

"What's going on?" She had to break into a jog to keep up with Helena's pace, responding to a stern glare with an even sharper one of her own, "I'm coming and you don't seem to have the time to stop me or argue. So how about you fill me in so I can help? You know, like you asked me to?" They've reached the elevator but Helena turned for the entrance to the stairwell and Myka felt a groan escape. 

The spy sent her a teasing smile over her shoulder, "I thought you were coming along?" Myka has no qualms with exercise. She took fencing from the age of 8 all the way through grad school and she teaches self-defense classes at the Gym, but-damn it- they were on the 17th floor. A few calming breaths and she's off, quickly making up the flight of steps between them due to her longer legs.

"It's Jensen. He's gone." 13 flights to go. 

Myka's eyes dart down to the device Helena had pulled from her bag, probably for tracking him, "I thought you said if he ran you'd send a charge through his body that would melt his eyeballs?" Helena manages to keep just a little bit ahead, and Myka lets her, she is the one with the gun after all.

"I need him for my plan to work." Myka nodded, 9 flights, and there was a flight of steps taken in silence before Helena slowed down to give her sheepish look, "and there was no bomb or charge. I was bluffing."

Myka stalled in her descent, and Helena grabbed her hand to pull her along behind her, "Well, I wasn't expecting him to call me on it. I can't decide if he's an idiot or deceptively intelligent." Myka has started to match her pace again, but neither ended the unintended handhold,

"Does it matter?" Myka spotted the absent nod out of the corner of her eye, both of them focusing on the device clutched in her fingers and occasionally the quickly moving stairs beneath their feet.

"It does indeed. One I can use, the other will make things decidedly more difficult." 3 flights.

Myka was getting a little dizzy from all the pivoting, her thighs and calves ached, but it still felt good, almost gratifying, the soreness would come tomorrow, "So, where is he? Moving or stationary?" 

Helena shot her an inquisitive glance before answering, "Stationary. Only a few blocks away."

They couldn't have been in the stairwell for more than a few minutes but the sun was almost completely gone by the time they burst out onto the road, the night lit only by a spattering of street lamps.

Myka put her hands on her knees, attempting to take a moment to catch her breath, but Helena was already off. It wasn't until they came to a stop in front of an unassuming restaurant lined with hanging paper lanterns that Helena finally stopped long enough for Myka to steady her breathing, and the spy did so abruptly.

"Civilians."

Myka was crouched down, fingers skimming the ground. Looking up, she blew a curl away from her face to better see the agent, who was not looking at her but at the restaurant,

"He's smarter than he looks. He put himself amongst a bunch of civilians betting that I would back off in order to prevent a possible international incident." 

Myka wiped her hands on her pants as she stood, "And are you? Gonna back off, I mean?" 

Helena scoffed and shook her head, "Certainly not," her haughty expression blossomed into a grin, "I'm just saying he's smarter than he looks. That's one question answered." Myka smiled but it faltered, something wasn't quite...

"If you aren't afraid of going in there with civilians why the hesitation?" And there was a moment where Helena was ready to brush her off, Myka could see it, she could see it in the slightly sharper intake- most likely in preparation for the delivery of an assuredly charming quip -and in the beginning of a smile that showed too many teeth to be real, but then the intake came out in a harried sigh, the smile withering to a grimace,

"There are two exits to this restaurant..." 

Myka easily put together the rest, "You go in one way he runs the other. So...we need to split up, I'll take back entrance and you go in the front." Helena shook her head, unsurprised with her idea; she'd probably thought of it and dismissed it already. Helena wasn't looking at her now, but rather scanning the face of the building meticulously.

"Hey." Nothing.

"Hey." The shoulder tensed under her palm, but at least it brought Helena's attention back to her, "Listen. You need to stop seeing me as a civilian and start seeing me as an asset. You asked me for my help, you told me it would be dangerous. Now, this is the right move and you know it."

She cleared her throat, a little surprised that she'd raised her voice, but then the adrenaline was coursing through her veins hyping her up, almost making her feel drunk... that is if drunk entailed things getting clearer rather than blurry.

Helena looked her hard in the eyes, and Myka wasn't sure what the woman was looking for so she just tried to be as open as possible-not an easy task for her-and hoped that Helena found it. After a few tense moments the spy gave her a barely perceptive nod, and then it was time to talk strategy. It only took a minute to come up with a plan, and even less time for that plan to go to hell.

Myka headed around back, counting internally as she went. On her mark she pushed open the employee entrance, kicking aside the can that'd been used to prop it open. The plan had been for stealth, the plan was to stick to the background and keep her eyes open, the plan went out the window the moment she walked into the restaurant's backroom to find two men holding up another man as a third delivered a string of punches to his gut.

The plan went to shit because Myka wasn't the type to be able just stand by as another is hurt...that...and the man currently being used for a game of 'rearrange the internal organs' was their missing treasure hunter.

Normally Myka would give warning before attacking someone, but it was 3 against 1 (Myka was pretty sure Jensen had slipped unconscious). Sending thanks to the universe for the soft, well-worn tread of her favourite boots, Myka managed to get close enough to deliver a sharp elbow to jaw before she found herself the centre of attention. And maybe she'd jumped into the move a tad, but she hadn't expected him to drop like that.

She had but a moment to relish her success before she was ducking the first punch. Myka twisted her body, using the momentum of her dodge as she leapt over the fallen man, her right foot kicking him in the head as she jumped out of range. He wasn't getting up. Good. One down.

Unfortunately jumping out of reach of the first man put her directly in the path of the second. She didn't have time to avoid the strike to her side, and it sent her flying back into one of the pipes lining the wall. The pipe burst as she hit it head first, sending steam pouring into the room.

The confusion and humid haze gave Myka the time she needed to recover and resume the offensive. She couldn't see a thing through the steam, but the fact that the men were swearing in Italian sure helped. She found the man who'd managed to hit her, and promptly slammed her leg down against the back of his knee, wincing slightly at the crunch of broken bones. He fell to a heap just as the steam cleared, just as Myka saw the fingers reaching to wrap around her throat. Where did he come from?!

Her legs flailed as she was held a few inches off the ground, kicking without ever making a connection. Fingers tight around her neck, the harsh scraping of stone against her back, vision blurring from steam and oxygen starvation, death shouldn't be an overload of sensation. It was too cruel.

That her vision cleared to the beautiful image of the agent was refreshing after the black and spots of near unconsciousness, that her vision cleared to the sight of Helena snapping her attacker's neck was decidedly less so. Her face was distorted, rage seeping from every line in her face, the fury evident in her eyes and in her tension as she stood erect and still a good 15 seconds after the man dropped limp and dead to the floor.

And then Helena was on her knees in front of her, fury and violence replaced by concern and as always no small amount of allure, "It seems I should have gone in through the back, although you seemed to be taking care of yourself quite well. Are you alright?"

Myka, not trusting her voice yet, shrugged, then winced. She raised her hand to her forehead only to have it snatched away by a tutting Helena, "Best not touch it until I get it cleaned and stitched. I've got what I need back at the hotel. What do you say we drag our troublesome treasure hunter back and get you taken care of hmm?"

It was easier than you might think to walk an unconscious man into a swank hotel. A few glib remarks about Helena's brother's inability to hold his liquor and his penchant for brawls and the bellboy offered them a luggage cart to haul him the rest of the way.

They split up in the elevator, Helena got out on the 15th to take Jensen to his room and secure him for the night. Myka wasn't sure if she wanted to know how. Myka knew exactly what she wanted to do, already out of her top by the time the door clicked closed behind her. She desperately needed a bath; now on top of sand and dirt she had blood on her. She dropped her clothes in a careless pile. They were most definitely beyond saving.

One of the perks of a 5 star hotel was the wide array of bathing accessories, that and a bathtub that can double as a Jacuzzi. Some lavender bath salts and an ocean of bubbles later Myka felt positively decadent. Which of course meant everything was about to go terribly wrong.

The door flew open, and Myka jumped to cover herself even though everything was covered to her collarbones. Helena was out of breath, which was very bad-the woman had run down 17 flights of stairs without breaking a sweat- and she wasn't teasing Myka about her state of undress. Something was very wrong indeed.

And Helena was suddenly kneeling at her side once more, one hand tightly gripping the edge of the tub the other holding-when did she pull out her gun again?

"I don't know how it happened. I suspect Jensen made a call when he escaped and gave up our location. Probably trying to buy himself some good favor, and seeing how we came upon him we can see how well that went. I'm reconsidering my previous statement, definitely an idiot." Helena's eyes were wide and unblinking, darting back and forth between Myka and the bathroom door,

"They're on their way up here right now. But they don't know about you. Only me." Myka knew where this was going,

"No. You can't be serious! I will not hide while you're left to fight alone!" It came out in a strangled whispering shout for Myka wasn't sure just how close they were.

Helena looked at her strangely again. Myka half expected her to blurt out 'Who are you' by the expression on her face, but then she's shaking her head and reaching out to cup her face with her free hand, "Myka Bering. You are a remarkable woman, and I hope this won't be the last of our partnership. I have great plans for you and I." Her eyes briefly dart down to Myka's lips, "For luck."

And there were fingers in her hair and the soft but persistent press of lips against her own, and Myka would have been embarrassed by how willingly she fell into the kiss like the proverbial wanderer in the desert being offered a drink. And drink she did. She drank it all in, every brush of their sun-chapped lips, the slight twisting of the fingers in her curls, the smell of Helena that should not have been so intoxicating given the agent had been unable to bathe, everything.

And then it was over, and there was a gentle hand on the top of her head pushing her beneath the bubbles and a kind but stern voice telling her to hold her breath, which Myka considered to be an unfair demand, for surely the other woman had taken the last of it with her.


End file.
